


The Sin-Eater and the silence

by AnonAnton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banishment, M/M, Neglected Castiel, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Writing Prompt Wednesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7291789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonAnton/pseuds/AnonAnton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for <a href="http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/146302531118/writing-prompt-wednesday-telepathic-aus">Unforth on Tumblr</a> using this prompt;</p><p>Historically, a sin-eater would eat a ritual meal to assume the sins of those around them, thus exonerating the original person. With the advent of species-wide telepathy, the term has taken on a new meaning - a sin-eater is the dumping place for the telepathically projected sins of their community or family, allowing everyone other than the sin-eater to live a blissfully happy, untroubled existence, while the sin-eater suffers for all of their wrong doings and wrong thoughts. And I’m a sin-eater…</p><p>So, I probably changed things up a little, but I appear to have made a story out of it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sin-Eater and the silence

**Author's Note:**

> Er, labelled as not using archive warnings only because there are references to bad things, but nothing graphic, nothing explicit in the writing, but might lead your head down that route. Lots of subtle hints at lots of bad things.

_A wave of guilt, pity and insecurity crashes downwards, engulfing, wounding. A plump girl with tear tracks down her dirty cheeks in a ratty grey smock looks away mournfully before running away through the snow laden trees, raucous laugher following behind. Hatred and anger swirls hotly, burning, abrading. A woman hits the ground, holding her face, tears and blood mixing as she begs for forgiveness over and over, burnt dinner spilled upon the dirt. Lust and disgust rile and jerk. A small boy, angelic, tooth missing, looks confused and hurt before shrugging and running back to his friends, a cautious look thrown over his shoulder for good measure._

 

-

Dean gripped his belly in both hands, hoping the pressure would fool it in to thinking it wasn't empty, that it hadn't been all but empty for four days. The snow had fallen thick during the night, landing on the already frozen layer beneath it making it all but impossible to trudge along, let alone dig for tubers or rabbit holes. His shelter had fallen in because of the snow over the past week leaving him blue and exposed to anything Skaði wanted to throw his way. With his food stores gone and no chance to forage or hunt for more, no where to hide from the sleet, the wind and the thick swirling snow, Dean knew he would die. And soon. 

 

He wrapped the stinking fur tighter around himself, wrinkling his nose in distaste. He thanked Ullr for helping him to fell the huge bear, or at the very least sending her his way. She had been old and ill the previous winter, but still more than a match for him, undernourished, cold and with nothing more than the iron  axe he had been allowed to take with him. Nevertheless, his skill at  preserving the skin without proper materials meant that it was degrading fast, sending waft after waft of stench in to his nostrils. That kill had been during in his second  winter out in the wilds, and this, his third, was proving far more of a trial despite the rotting fur keeping the worst of the wind from his back.

 

-

 

“Granny Kelsy! Granny Kelsy! Sing to us!” A chorus of young voices trilled. Kelsy, hunched close to the crackling fire, was one of the Elders of the village. At eighty-seven years old she knew every story and every tale. The young ones often listened with rapt attention, and even more so this week since the storms had hit, heavier and colder than even Old Josh could remember.

 

“I will not sing-” She began her voice cracking slightly, yet strong despite her age, a chorus of disappointed exclamations interrupting her words. “I will not sing, for I have sung every night this week, and I shall lose my voice if I continue! Please. I will tell you the prophecy. The prophecy of the Sin-Eater and the Silence.” A heavy atmosphere filled the large hall, smoke hitting the wooden beams of the roof and escaping the vent at the top. The rustling of the women weaving further from the fire could be heard, and the singing of the stone as a man without the chamber sharpened swords in the snow, but otherwise, bated breath and widened eyes were all that greeted her words. Even the _thoughts_ had stopped. 

 

The Sin-Eater and the Silence was not a tale the villagers held close to their hearts.

 

-

 

Joshua held the babe in his arms. Looking down at the messy mop of raven coloured hair, snow white skin and glowing blue eyes, he felt an inkling of guilt at what he was about to do to the child. He was condemning him to a short life, one of agony and misery, but even as he felt the guilt rise, the sensation left him, leaving him calm once more, free from the sin he was about to commit on the innocent baby.

 

_Are we ready?_ He thought to his fellows.

 

As Chief it was his duty to pick and  Sain the child. Every time the Sin-Eater died, a babe must be Sained, to live, to grow, in health and happiness until the then Sin-Eater dies, and they take their place, then another Babe is picked. 

 

Joshua had to pick and Sain the now current Sin-Eater; David, and now he must Sain his successor too. He tanks Odin that when David dies and the babe Castiel takes his place, he will be too old to be Chief and can leave the choosing of the next Sin-Eater to another.

 

He sighed out loud.  _Let the Saining begin._ The thoughts of his council echoed in his head. 

 

Inias threw the dry sticks of juniper on the fire, along with the glowing pine cones and rosemary. Hannah came up behind him and wrapped a water soaked rag about his nose and mouth before he leant over the fire, Castiel held tight in his arms, and doused the wriggling, crying child in smoke.

 

As he  stood there, letting the others fan the smoke ov e r the both of them he  thought over his choice. Castiel was born only three weeks previously. His mother died in the child bed and Odin knows where his father was, or whether he even had one. He hear d the thoughts of the wives sometimes, suggesting Naomi was begot of  Hel, the god of the dead.

 

Maybe it was best that Castiel be sent down this path. With such a black mark against him his life would never be pleasant, yet all Sin-Eaters are treated with respect. They are chosen. They are sacred. They suffer so that the many may live.

 

He leant back from the fire, baby wailing and blackened with smoke, and lowered him in to the ford, icy cold water washing away the soot from his hide and purifying him even further than the aromatic smoke.

 

One last rite and his fate would be sealed. A dribble of the nectar of the gods;  Jörð  of the Earth to grow it,  Sól of the Sun to nourish it and Máni of the moon to age it. Castiel quieted as Joshua trickled the golden whiskey in to his mouth. His red and puffy eye s widened and he blinked up at Josh's face.

 

“I am so sorry little one. Your fate is sealed, you will keep our souls pure and grant us all entrance to Freyja's field upon our deaths.”

 

Even as Josh cried, he felt the guilt lift once more as David siphoned the sin of playing a god amongst men on an innocent baby.

 

-

 

_Seething jealousy and hate punched in the gut as a young man rammed his fist in to the stomach of a younger boy. Lust swirled, hot and heavy as a woman lay with a man other than her husband, hidden in the woods, snow on the ground. Resentment pulled and twisted as a woman's hand smacked a child's back, ensuring nothing would show, in a house empty of food._

 

-

Dean watched, shocked, hurt and angry as his father just nodded in agreement with Joshua, the Chief. He was to be cast out, banished. His father, John, just looked on in benign indifference as Sam was sent to fetch his axe. That was all a banished man was allowed to his name.

 

It was his twenty-first birthday, and not only had his telepathy not manifested, but he was wrong, different. Other people couldn't not stand the silence that surrounded him. They could not hear each others thoughts. They decreed that he must go.

 

Sam returned, tears staining his cheeks. He embraced Dean, handed him his axe, and cried harder telling him he loved him, and that they would see one another one day. He didn't mind the silence.

 

Dean hitched a half smile on to his face. He did not believe Sam, but appreciated the effort. It was John's serene countenance that he was furious with.

 

What ever was wrong with him prevented the Sin-Eater alleviating his sins, his bad thoughts. Every time he had been cruel as a child he had felt the guilt afterwards, every time he had mocked Sam he had felt sad, every time he had disobeyed his father he had felt the need to apologise.

 

The poor behaviour of children was always forgiven, with the sins removed, and the telepathy that adulthood provided, almost all deviance and evil was prevented as there was nowhere to hide. Only the truly persistent and genuinely evil taught themselves to shield their thoughts from others. Only, with Dean around…

 

The village believed him to be a conduit to evil.

 

He was banished, and as Dean watched the sin of condemning his son leave John's eyes, Dean knew he would more than likely be dead within a few months. If the bears or boars did not get him, the winter would.

 

-

 

_Burning guilt and fear and hate and relief fought as the slender fingers squeezed the juice of the Deadly Nightshade in to just one of the bowls._

 

-

 

“There, there, David.” The ancient woman murdered, not realising that David had died twelve years previously, as she wiped the sweat from Castiel's white and blotchy brow with a cool damp rag.

 

Tegan had retired after loosing both her sons and her husband in a hunting accident when she was twenty-six, choosing to care for the Sin-Eater, day in day out for the rest of her days, avoiding the villagers and her loss.

 

She took in the emaciated form below her on the rickety cot and sweat dampened furs. The Sin-Eater was kept naked, all the easier to serve his needs. Layers of stained cotton lay under his hips, changed as soon as his body evacuated its self. A pot of bay and honey infused water sat by his head so that she could clean him off, wipe away sweat, tears, and anything else.

 

She eased her self down on to the cot and angled the bowl she had retrieved from the hearth, close to his lips, and with the special funnel shaped spoon fed him a mouthful of broth. Sin-Eaters died early because of the stress on their bodies. They were rarely conscious, only at times of great purity and happiness for the village. The last time Tegan remembered this raven haired Sin-Eater opening his eyes was at the time of the Summer Festival, three years ago. He had gasped as a group of children had run past, laughing, chasing another older boy past the cottage he was kept in. His eyes had flown wide and a look of bliss had removed the frown permanently etched in to his forehead. Since that day the man had not surfaced once, muttering and crying with the sins he absorbed, but completely beyond anything more. She remembered he had been a rather fitful Sin-Eater before that, waking for brief flashes every now and then, not like David had been. She frowned wondering which Sin-Eater this was, if not David.

 

She shrugged, it was all the same. He would die soon, and she would take the next Sin-Eater under her wing. The man's ribs were poking out, his pulse erratic, he was in too deep to eat or drink much. He was still relatively young at thirty-four, even for a Sin-Eater. Maybe the village was becoming more evil, doing worse acts. She would not know, she never left her charge.

 

“Come on sweet David” she sang, “time for your broth.”

 

-

 

Dean looked up, and up a the daunting wall before him. Enormous posts cut from ancient trees, an impenetrable ring surrounding the place that he grew up. The snow was up to his knees, he could not feel his feet in their rawhide shoes. The winter he had been banished, the weather had been mild, the next winter had been worse, but bearable. This winter was a killer. He had survived thus far eating the frozen remains of animals which had suffered the fate he was trying to hard to avoid. But he needed warmth and shelter, as much as he needed food.

 

It was barely dawn, the light sickly looking and grey-green, but the village would rise soon. With any luck he could hide in the tree line until the great gates were opened and he would be able to slip through unnoticed. He prayed to Odin that his particular abnormality, the telepathic block that surrounded him, would not give him away. He had been banished before he had had a chance to test it's limits with his friends, as one of the eldest, very few of the others had come in to their telepathy. He didn't know if the phenomenon surrounded him a mile wide, or only a few feet. He would not be able to tell until the alarm was raised.

 

A few hours passed and the gates did not open. Why would they? The villagers had all they needed within.

 

He would have to initiate his second, far more risky plan. He hunkered down to await nightfall, hunger gnawing his belly.

 

-

_Glee and revenge hit hard as a length of wood smashed in the chickens' head, beofre caloused hands gathered them up to his own fireside. Pinched cruelty nipped as the woman clacked her tongue and spread rumours. A pulse of embarressment and lust and defiance as a girl touched her self for the first time._

 

-

 

Dean dropped.

 

He felt his legs go under him, and he looked up at the tree that had, until a moment ago, supported him. He was surprised he had lasted as long up there, crawling along the branch as he had, with numb hands and numb feet.

 

He had not been able to take the fur with him up the tree and simply wore the leather tunic and cotton leggings he had been banished wearing. The fur was too baulky to hold on to whilst he scaled the rough bark, he had decided to leave it and hope that he could step from the tree on to a roof on the building he hoped still dwelt under the branches.

 

Upon raising himself above the height of the wall, he discovered he was out of luck. A pile of rotten, wet, ash filled logs greeted him, still stinking of sad half burnt timber, and with little snow sitting upon the pile. The fire must have been recent.

 

He had decided to go along the branch as far as he could in the hope of landing softly in the snow, and not in the soot soaked remains of a house.

 

He had at least made it as far as the snow. Leaving a blackened trail of soot and ash across the pristine layer that was still falling would give away his hiding place too easily.

 

He needed to find the only dwelling that he could hide in during the day without attracting instant notice.

 

The Sin-Eaters cottage and his reclusive carer. He was in no state to use his telepathy, and she had no one to use it upon. He could spend the day under the floor, crawling beneath the raised beams as he had as a child, and await the next night to scavenge for food.

 

One more day starving would not kill him.

 

He hoped.

 

-

Kelsy sat up a little straighter in the firelight and cleared her throat. Her voice would be gone by the end of her tale.

 

“Some say this happened in the dawn of time, when Odin first set foot on our sacred isle. Some say it is yet to come. I believe both are true. Our past is our future. And the Silence will meet the Sin-Eater once more.”

 

“The silence is a devil, wrapped in the skin of the dead and abhorred of our gods. Blue of flesh and set on consuming all around, meat and waste and water and gold. It mutters and howls, for the silence is within, not without.”

 

“When the silence and the Sin-Eater meet, the end will be upon us.”

 

-

 

Castiel's eyes whipped open, the dim orange glow of the fire lancing pain in to his disused eyes.

 

He groaned, then started, the sound of his own rough voice making him almost painfully aware of the lack of sound and vision playing out behind his eyes, in the blackness.

 

He did not understand. This was like- Like _before_.

 

He remembered the last time he was aware, the last time he knew who he was, even if only for a few seconds. It was the deafening silence, rather than just the hissing of only one or two sins happening at a time. He was himself again, just like before David had died.

 

The silence was blissful.

 

His lips curved in to a smile for the first time in years, tearing his dry lips. He revelled in the pain. In something so real, so tangible.

 

Castiel tried to sit up. Before his Elder, David, had died, he had been fit and strong. Now all he could do was roll on his side and look about the room with aching eyes and stinging lips.

 

An old woman was fast asleep in the corner, a large green bottle in her hand, cup, empty and tipped on it's side at her feet. The bottle was empty. The woman snored. A name floated in to his head; Tegan. He had met her once, as a child. They had told him that when he became the Sin-Eater she would look after him.

 

That was all that they had told him.

 

Then David had died, and his brain had flooded with each and every tiny or huge sin, real or imagined that every villager committed, day in day out. Even their dreamt sins haunted him. He re-lived every single one.

 

He shuddered.

 

It took three tries to raise himself up on shaking arms. Looking down at himself he took in the wasted and thin legs, skeletal arms, concave stomach and every single rib visible and stark on his bruised skin. He was naked and damp between the legs, smelled bad, but there was a strange tugging warmth to the silence that now enveloped him. It brought him comfort but also asked him kindly to find it, to search it out. Just like the day he had awoken before. The mere seconds he had felt that sensation, he had wanted to go after it. But then it had been gone, and the-

 

He stopped squeezing his eyes shut, he didn't want to remember the sins now, not now that he was free, however fleeting the situation might be.

 

-

 

Tegan dreamt of the time she had suggested that her husband take their two toddlers on a hunting trip with him. She needed time to rest, she was so bone achingly tired. Her husband could care for them for once. Time. She just needed time alone. Guilt curled in her belly.

 

-

 

Castiel rolled off the cot on to all fours grunting with the effort. He crawled toward the fire where a gross, sickly, oily, overcooked smell was rising from a pot on the banked flames.

 

It smelled heavenly.

 

He didn't think he was strong enough to lift the pot from the fire, but he could kneel up and dip a filth encrusted bowl in to the stinking stew.

 

He scalded his tongue on the first mouthful, but he didn't stop until he had eaten four bowls full and his belly was straining and full. Still concave, but no longer in agony.

 

He needed to find the source of the quiet, the calm. He wanted it close. Needed it right next to him, whatever it was.

 

He spent a few moments looking around the room until his eyes lit on a rag hanging from a bucket on the floor by the cot. He hauled himself over, hoping to find clothes to cover his nakedness. What he found was a bucket of filthy, stinking water. He could feel the urine, still clammy on his thighs, where he must have pissed while unconscious under the weight of sins. He took the disgusting rag and wiped at himself, hoping he wasn't making his own stench worse.

 

He took another moment to catch his breath. He was starting to shiver badly, the warmth from the fire was not enough, he was naked, sweat and fouled water dried on his skin. He needed clothing before he could attempt leaving the room.

 

Still crawling; he lacked the strength to stand, he found his way to his carer. The old woman stank, of spirits and unwashed clothes. He reached up, balanced on his knees, feet tucked under his haunches, and pulled the heavy woollen shawl from her shoulders.

 

She did not stir.

 

He wrapped the huge expanse of fabric around his still kneeling frame, tucking the corner in about his waist.

 

He needed to find the silence.

 

 

-

 

Kelsy watched her rapt audience. For the youngest children this story was new, but the older ones understood, as did the adults listening in the back. Of all the stories of their people, this created fear and terror amongst the listeners. It was for this reason that Sin-Eaters were kept away from others, even before their Elder died. Before the crippling weight of the villager’s sins reduced them to the worst of the old or the most helpless of the young, they were protected and coddled and never allowed a soul near who had not yet manifested. It was tradition, but it was also a precaution.

 

“The silence will kill the Sin-Eater and there will be not any more.” She paused to let the weight of her words sink in.

 

“And the Silence will eat our thoughts, leaving us deaf, and blind, and dumb, and gone.”

 

-

 

Dean awoke to two blue eyes staring at him intently. “Fucking shite! Odin's bollocks!” He yelped. Despite the shock of his awakening, he thought that he must have died after all, despite all the effort he went to, despite digging with his bare hands in to the ice beneath the Sin-Eater's cottage. He had found the warmest spot, next to the huge hearth stone that rested against the dry ground in this under- floor realm, and curled up and slept. Perhaps he had been too late.

 

The sunken blues eyes, surrounded by bruise like shadows continued to look at him as if he was something wonderful, something worth the tears collecting in the glowing gaze.

 

“You're the silence.” The words came out hoarse, gravel rough with disuse. Dean started at the name. He looked down in misery. He had already been found, he hadn't even lasted a night, and now he would be killed, not simply banished.

 

He looked back up as he heard a strange choking hiccough noise. The sickly looking, skeletally thin man was crying, a grin plastered across his dry, bleeding lips.

 

“wha-?” He grunted as the feather light man launched himself at him, chests colliding, warm skin and bone meeting more muscular, but still undernourished, lean muscle. Dean's heart beat was sluggish with the cold, the strange man's, tripping quickly beneath his bony ribs as he clung to Dean and cried in to his shoulder.

 

He kept hearing the words “you've saved me, you've saved me,” repeated against his collar bones.

 

“You- You're not going to-” The wide blue eyes met his again and a strange look passed across his face. “What?” He asked.

 

“Are you going to hand me to the Chief?” A look of bewilderment, then understanding crossed the man's expression, his hollowed cheeks and waxy skin.

 

“You're banished?” He asked huskily. Dean just nodded. Shouldn't the man know that?

 

In the light reflected from the glow of the snow surrounding his little cave of floorboard and ice he finally took in the rest of the man. No body fat, filthy, he smelled no worse than Dean at least, but he only had a greasy woollen _thing_ wrapped about him. He was shivering with the cold. Clearly not taken care of.

 

That's when he realised he was barely shivering. He felt warm.

 

“My name is Castiel.” He whispers, seemingly having lost the energy to speak. Dean open his mouth to speak surprise coursing through him. He recognized the name, but Castiel continued before he can query him. “I woke up a little while ago, not sure how long ago. I've been under for-” He stops, frowning. “I don't know how long.” He tails off looking sad and confused. But, before Dean can interject, he starts again, looking happier. “But then I awoke, and I knew I needed to find the cause, you're so calm, so quiet. You've saved me.” Another smile cut across his features, and dread filled Dean's belly.

 

“You're the Sin-Eater.” He whispered, chills erupting across his skin anew, and not from the cold.

 

 

-

 

John awoke in a cold sweat.

 

Disgust with him self, sadness, misery, pain, guilt, _guilt,_ crippling guilt flood him, his senses, his soul.

 

_He sent Dean away._

 

His eldest, his beloved son. He let him be banished because he was different.

 

He curled up in a ball and wept and wept and wept.

 

-

 

The rancid pot of soup over the now blazing fire was empty, two bellies straining in happiness, by the time Castiel and Dean had told both their tales,  fear and confusion forgotten in the urgency for warmth and food . 

 

Castiel learn t from Dean that he is now  Thirty-four an d ha d  been Sin-Eatin g for twelve years, Dean le arnt that, what ever defect it is that he has, the last time it effected  C ast i el was the summer before he turned twenty-one, the summer before he was banished.

 

Castiel cast his eyes over the dishevelled man in front of him once more. His skin was no longer blue with cold, lips a grey purple. A pinkness suffused his cheeks and he groaned in pleasure while gripping his full belly. He was much younger than Castiel, thin, but wiry. He looked ever so tired.

 

Knowing why Dean was banished, and knowing the beautiful glorious silence in his own head, Castiel knew that Dean was good, a good thing for him. The torture and suffering he went through for twelve years, what countless other Sin-Eaters have had to endure before him, simply so that the guilt of a misdeed would not ruin their chance to get to Freyja's field. It disgusted him.

 

He tried his best not to remember the sins, but so many surfaced, so many, and so many thoughts hidden, covered, so many people learning to shield their thoughts from those around them. Women having affairs, men pursuing children, youths sleeping together the night before their marriages to other people. And, although he still absorbed their sins, at least the children did not need to learn to conceal their telepathy. Once they hit twenty-one, that was the moment each and every adult used their telepathy, yet learnt to control, mask and hide it in almost the same instant.

 

A sharp cough interrupted his thoughts. “Why- um, why did you call me the silence?” Dean asked.

 

“Is that- Do you not know of the prophecy?” He answered, frowning. Dean's eyes widen as he seemed to remember. “Although, I hope for my sake that you are not. I do not wish for you to kill me. But- I don't know. Knowing what I know of the men and women who live in this place. I feel it would be better if the place were just gone, if they were not granted access to Freyja's field, and we let them reap what they sow.”

 

-

 

Joshua awoke in the deep blackness of night, the fire glowing faintly in the room. As he regularly did, he waited for the swirling guilt and pity and sadness to leave him after awaking from the nightmare of Saining the babe Castiel and the babe David. But it didn't. For the first time in his life, he felt guilt for more than mere seconds.

 

-

 

Dean's eye's widened and he took a breath to answer, before checking himself, frowning, then started again. “I will not kill you Castiel.”

 

Castiel sighed. “But you do not understand Dean. We used to live amongst rapists, men who lust after children, women who beat their children for fun, fathers who disown their families...”

 

Dean watched the heartbroken expression crippling the raven haired man's face. “Fathers...” Dean bit his lip. “Is there another way?”

 

Castiel turned his opalescent blue eyes toward Dean's face once more. “Why don't we find out?”

 

-

 

Kelsy awoke calm. Her voice was sore from the tale she told the night before, but she grunted as she got her self out of her nest of furs and went to revive her fire. _Josh?_ She thought, knowing the old Chief from the hut next door would be awake and wanting a cup tea. She set the herbs in the pot hooked over the fire. Normally the old man would shuffle over directly, or she would hear his grumbled thoughts as he dragged himself form his bad. _Josh?_ She queried again. Perhaps he was still asleep, it was only just dawn after all.

 

That was when she heard the wailing start up.

 

-

 

Dean and Castiel had spent the night dozing resting against the wall of the cottage by the fire, neither wanting to lie in the sweat sodden stinking furs of Castiel's cot.

 

Dean was appalled with the way the Sin-Eater was treated, was  _kept._ In the pre-dawn light, they both gave up on trying to catch enough rest and decided they should implement their plan.

 

Finding the old woman's cot in a secluded area of the cottage they rummaged through her things, pulling out her tunics and woollen smocks. They also found a pair of woollen leggings which would usually be worn under her dress. Castiel saw no shame in wearing the clothes of a woman over wearing nothing but a shawl wrapped about his waist. They found a length of rope discarded in a corner of other such useless and broken things, and tied it about his skinny waist, cinching in the too-large tunics and holding up the enormous leggings. Dean took another woollen tunic and tucked it in to his own filthy leggings and put his leather tunic back on over the top. 

 

There was no more food available, and Dean mentioned that he remembered a weekly delivery being left at the cottage door, with raw food to prepare and rough whiskey. Those who had not manifested were mostly kept away from the cottage, so he didn't know what day the food appeared, but it would not before the sun had risen. 

 

They checked over the woman, who snored loudly, threw more logs on the fire and braced them selves to go outside and use the snow to wash themselves the best they could. It would not be pleasant, but quicker than warming snow to use the water, or using the filthy stuff already left by the bed. Castiel's nose was clearly too familiar with the scent, but Dean informed him the cottage stank of shite, sweat, piss and whiskey.

 

Biting their lips to remain silent, each man took a spot out of sight of each other and out of sight of the village, and dropped their clothes on the compacted snow, and gathered handfuls of the stuff to scratch their skin clean, with all possible haste, before throwing on their clothes and running back to the hot fire in the revolting room.

 

Bright pink in the cheek, they both looked more alive than the other had yet seen them.

 

They spent the next twenty minuets scouring the cottage for anything of use. Dean added an iron knife to the axe pushed through his belt and Castiel took the small splitting axe used to the fire wood. There was no winter ware in the cottage, nor spare shoes but Dean found some twine and wrapped rags around Castiel's feet to protect them from the cold. 

 

Dean turned to Castiel when they were done. “We need to find more food before we do this. We should be able to get in to the stores.” He stood, ready to go and feed the two of them but Castiel's hand landed on his forearm. “Dean- I, um, I wanted to thank you. You have saved my life once and spared it once. And, now, we go to face down a village of, probably, angry, scared, and guilt ridden people. I- I'm not sure how-”

 

Dean smiled, the first Castiel had seen on the man. His face lit like the sun after rain. “We've both been wronged Cas. We'll stand together, face this together and fight together if need be.”

 

-

 

The children didn't understand. Kelsy watched as the stood and crouched in the square along with many of the adults and elders. Nothing had changed for the children, but they knew something was wrong. The sussurus of “silence” and “the Sin-Eater” kept roving through the people gathered in the square, awaiting the Chief to come and talk to them, to save them, to promise them access to Freyja's field when they died-

 

The heavy doors to the Long House opened. Silence filled the square, doubled, tripled by the lack of  _thoughts_ sounding in each and every single person's head. Many we're crying, holding their head. 

 

Kelsy frowned as she took in the odd relieved face amongst the crown too.

 

An audible gasp filled the square, and Kelsy shifted to see what had caused the reaction amongst her fellow villagers. 

 

What she saw took her breath away too.

 

-

 

Castiel looked at Dean in the darkened interior. “Are you ready?” Dean squared his wiry shoulders and took Cas' bony hand in his. “I am.”

 

They walked in to the open air of the snow filled and mud churned square.

 

In unison they took a breath in the silence of hundreds of terrified people.

 

In unison they spoke.

 

“We are the Sin-Eater and the Silence.”

 

Still hand in hand Castiel continued alone, gripping Dean for strength. “This village is rotten. You rely on me, and other like me to absolve your sin. But it is not absolved.”

 

Dean took over. “It is simply passed on. You rape your wife and believe your self forgiven. You take a child to your bed and believe, once the guilt is gone, so is the deed. You beat and bully and no consequences are had.”

 

Castiel took his turn. “You have become adept at shielding your inner most thoughts from your neighbour. You hide your deviance from your spouses and siblings. You commit crimes of the worst nature knowing no body will know, and that you are forgiven.”

 

Dean; “But you are not forgiven.  The Sin-Eater will no longer eat your sins. You must feel the full weight of your actions. Telepathy will no longer give you a false sense of security, beleiving every deed of every person known to all.”

 

Castiel; “You will be as children. But you will be made to face the consequences of your actions.”

 

Dean; “You will never again hear the thoughts of your family and friends.”

 

Castiel; “And you will no longer be forgive your sins unless you atone. This can only be a good thing.”

 

-

 

Kelsy watched in awe as the united front of the Sin-Eater and the silence took apart their society and told them they would need to re-build. 

 

Looking again at the previously relieved faces in the crowd she saw Hayden, a strong large man, now looking terrified and shocked. Megan, a shrew like woman, hey eyes darting toward her children, sad and thin looking in the snow. 

 

But then she caught the look on Constance's face and knew this was the right thing.  Whether destruction came in the form of not being allowed in to Freyja's field, or in the breakdown of a society that no one had known was broken, perhaps the destruction was key. Constance was grinning and crying and shaking. Her husband, Rodney of the grazed fists looked sick to his stomach. 

 

She edged hey way through the crowd. She could feel unease, could see with open eyes the state of the two men, clasped hands, gaunt faces, waxy pale skin. If the crowd grew more disquieted, there would be trouble.

 

-

 

Dean gripped Castiel's shaking hand harder. He could feel the man waning, he had been listening to sins for twelve years, his muscles were wasted, he had not eaten for drunk enough, and now the crowd were shifting.

 

If they chose to attack, to argue the trust, weapons or not they stood no chance.

 

“The old one” Castiel whispered, as aware of his state as Dean was.

 

Dean started, but held back at the glint in her eye.

 

“MY people!” she yelled, voice cracked and raw, arms held in the air. “My people! Listen!” Whist the muttering settled she threw over her shoulder, just loud enough for them to hear an instruction to retrieve the Chief. Dean did as bid.

 

“The prophecy has come true! True I say! But it is not to be feared as we once thought.”

 

She took a breath as Dean returned to Castiel's side, the Chief, blotchy and red from crying, but utterly unharmed by the two men stood by their side.

 

“The blue skinned monster, howling, wrapped in the skin of the dead and consuming all in it's path! This is the stuff of legend! These man are real. And here. And now! The silence _has_ killed the Sin-Eater!” She paused as chatter broke out among the crowd. “In truth! Is he not no longer eating your sin? Do you not feel guilt and sadness and pity at all your misdeeds? If his purpose is dead so is he, this man is Castiel once more!”

 

“And the silence, this man before you? Was he not banished for his silence of thought, and now that he has returned is it not true that all the _thoughts_ are gone? Well?”

 

Nods and murmuring agreement sat heavily between the growling of angry men and vicious women.

 

With Castiel and Dean in our midst, we are indeed deaf and dumb to the _thoughts._ But if we have learnt to hide our _thoughts_ from others? How is this a safe guard? How does that make a world in which we want to live. The benefit is gene, and talking out loud can only benefit us!”

 

She stood up a little straighter and took an enormous breath. “Let me tell you one last story. One of truth. One my grandfather told me when I was a child. His grandfather before him told him the prophecy, but it ended a little differently to the one we know today. I am inclined to believe his version the truth.”

 

“And! The silence will end the Sin-Eater and there will be not any more. The silence will eat our thoughts, birthing us anew, leaving us deaf, and dumb, not blind, nor gone.”

 

She stared hard at the crowd, eyeing each and every man, woman and child who looked pained or panicked at her words.

 

“Thanks to these men we are no longer blind. And thanks to these men, nor shall we be gone.”

 

-

 

Castiel and Dean, both, were excused half way through the meeting of the chief, the council and the elders. Their skin was grey, their stomachs grumbling, their eyes drooping.

 

Sam, Dean's brother had been sent to arrange them a hut, two warm beds and a fire. Dean was too exhausted to greet his gangly little brother properly, but hugged him silently as he took the basket of bread from him. Two of the men had placed two bottles of beer by the hearth, and set a still steaming cauldron on the fire, full of a hearty, freshly made stew of meat and winter vegetables. A parade of women and children brought in extra blankets, spoons and bowels, clean clothes, a second, smaller cauldron with fresh herbs for washing, an ewer of sheep’s milk, blades for shaving.

 

When everyone had gone Castiel smiled faintly at Dean.

 

“Did it work?” He asked.

 

Dean looked at him, reduced and tired in the firelight, “weren't mobbed and murdered. They've set up a council and taken your list of names, spoken to the school, taken constance from her husband and Megan's children from her. I would say it worked Cas, yes.”

 

An exhausted, watery smile broke out on Castiel's face. “Thank Odin.” He whispered and sat down on the bed.

 

After stuffing them selves with the beautifully made stew, Dean went out to scrub the bowls clean in the snow, enjoying every satisfied gurgle his belly made.

 

Once back in the hut he saw Castiel had already got under the blankets and furs on his bed. Dean sat on his to remove his new, fur lined, snow covered boots.

At the creak of the wooden frame under his weight, Castiel hoisted himself aloft, already much stronger than he had been that morning. There was sleepy panic in his eyes. “No! You- I can't- I need- You-”

 

Dean made shushing noises and knelt on the floor by the older man's bed. What's wrong. He was terrified that Castiel would slip in to a fever. He had been so week, had not eaten properly for twelve years, and suddenly he over turned an entire village with only a banished, broken boy for help. “What's wrong Cas?”

 

“I need you- can you sleep. I don't want you too far away. I’m scared-” he swallowed. “I'm scared of waking up and finding this was all a dream. Or worse waking up and finding you gone and I'll have to go back to _that._ ” There was fear and disgust in his voice.

 

“I’ll be just over there Cas, not far at all.” He said, indicating his bed behind him. “No! I need you next to me...” He looked pained, as is he knew what he was asking. “I- Oh. All right Cas, of course. I'll be there.”

 

Within five minutes they were wrapped up together in one, freshly made, fragrant bed, warm, comfortable and cosy.


End file.
